Queen of Love & Beauty
by Samyo
Summary: "King Stannis is no King Robert, nor is he Lord Renly. He would rather the contestants prove themselves on his battlefields, shedding blood instead of splintering lances, making enemies surrender instead of appeasing joyous crowds." AU fic set years after S2. Sansa POV. Sansa/Stannis.


Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Author's Note: AU fic. Everyone is legal.

* * *

It seems so odd. Having a tourney on the King's Nameday. Having a tourney during a time of war.

I know Davos and the others had to lobby heavily for them. In the name of morale. In the name of establishing some sort of normalcy.

King Stannis is no King Robert, nor is he Lord Renly. He would rather the contestants prove themselves on his battlefields, shedding blood instead of splintering lances, making enemies surrender instead of appeasing joyous crowds.

Yet here we all are, watching the final jousting match between Ser Rolland and a knight that I already know doesn't have a chance.

All the best tourney men are fighting for the Lannisters. All the best fighting men are playing at the tourney.

King Stannis grinds his teeth as the match is being set.

Ser Davos, Hand of the King, is the only one Stannis ever actively converses at these events. I am seated on the other side of the King, and I am generally ignored.

Littlefinger says the King will sometimes give me suggestive glances, though I have yet to catch him in the act at such a public event.

Littlefinger has a habit of seeing only things that he could somehow use to acquire a personal advantage. The King has proven fairly difficult, so desperation makes his observations in this case rather unreliable.

I wonder if people would still be as terrified of the King if they knew how uncomfortable such appearances as these make him.

Davos does his best to keep his mind at ease, but it is not enough. His whole body is still tense. His scowl is just a mask for a level of anxiety that would make weaker men go insane.

No man should ever have to carry all of the burdens that come with the Iron Throne. No man should ever have to go through all the things he's had to overcome.

I hate it when the say he's cold, soulless. Where my mask is a smile, his is a scowl.

They have no idea what we've been through, what we're still going through.

We were the ones that lived. We were the ones that survived. We were the ones that were suppose to die.

Cold men can't feel sadness. Soulless men can't feel guilt. And the King is drowning in both. We're both drowning in both.

The crowd cheers as the knights in play take their positions.

I wish I could touch your hand like you touched mine the week before. When you found me at the wall, quietly singing songs to try to bring back that little girl everyone loved. That Jon loved.

Their lances are aimed for the kill.

You said that little girl died when she saw a sword cut through her father's neck, much like the boy who died when he saw his parents' ship smashed to pieces and the sea consume them all.

Lances shatter, but both riders are still on their horses.

Dead little boy ended up being King. Dead little girl is just trying to stay sane.

As the riders prepare with fresh lances, I catch you look at me. I smile, but you still see the sadness lurking beneath it.

I wonder if you ever looked at your dead wife the way you look at me.

The riders charge.

I'm not even sure what I am to you anyway.

Ser Rolland lands a crushing blow, sending his opponent crashing to the ground.

Ser Jon Snow's sister. Lord Stark's daughter.

The knight stays on the ground. Squires come rushing to his aid.

Queen of the North. Lannister rat.

The match is called in Ser Rolland's favor. His opponent is carried away by some squires.

Potential threat. Pathetic ally.

Ser Rolland is declared the winner of the tourney.

You reluctantly clap, though I know he was the one you wanted to win.

With a crown of yellow and red roses in his hand, he approaches my side of the King's viewing box. All the ladies to the left of me start to giggle.

They know he will crown one of them.

Or they know he will crown me.

He holds the crown out to me.

To Lady Sansa Stark of the North, the Queen of Love and Beauty.

I can't quite decipher the look you give him. Suspicion with perhaps the slightest bit of jealousy.

Thank you, Ser Rolland. And congratulations.

I place the crown upon my head as he rides off with a cheeky grin on his face.

The ladies whisper about his motivations, intentions. He is enough of a war hero to make any girl temporarily forget about his pox scarred face. His high standing with you is enough to temporarily forget about him being a bastard.

Ser Rolland knows he doesn't have a chance with me. From crude laughs coming from the staging area, I bet he only did it to annoy Jon, or try to get a reaction out of the you.

You're agitated, but have periodically been so during the course of the whole tourney.

You rise. We all then rise and exit the box.

Davos gives me a wink before being distracted with some conversation with some lord.

You offer me your arm as our small party makes it back to the Red Keep for a small banquet. You never offer to any other woman, this I am sure.

Were you pleased with the outcome of the tourney, Your Grace?

As pleased as any man could be.

You make an effort not to look at me, not wanting to attract any more attention then you already are. But you are King now; all eyes will always be on you.

Did you ever participate in the tourneys, My King?

I've noticed calling you King is enough sometimes to shake you out of your moods while out in public. In private, it can sometimes make you worse.

Before I ever saw war first hand. Was never the best at anything. It was always Robert. Or your uncle, Ser Brandon. Or Ser Jaime Lannister. Or even Lord Tywin on the rare occasion. I believe he even once named your mother his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Lord Tywin?

When Rhaegar named your aunt instead of his wife, people always had trouble remembering all the others that came before her.

Though it is the truth, it still won't stop stinging.

Though I am sure she was one of the loveliest of them all. Your father was very lucky.

So you never did the tourneys after the war?

I was too busy running the Kingdom with Lord Arryn. But Robert did for awhile. And so did Renly for a bit when he was old enough.

I guess it all seems like child's play compared to in the field after awhile.

Robert always loved war a little too much. Its fitting that it is all he will be known for.

I hold your arm a little tighter for a moment.

I did not know you were so familiar with Ser Rolland.

So there was jealousy after all.

I fear everyone has been deceived, that he did it just to annoy my brother.

You grind your teeth. You know that wasn't his motivation.

But your brother wasn't present, My Lady.

That was true. He had been called away to investigate some incident in the city.

Then maybe he thought I was the only one present worthy of such a title.

It sounds blunter than I meant, but that twitch in your jaw reminds me that you prefer bluntness over the alternative any day.

* * *

Nights are the worse in the Red Keep.

Just as my mind quiets down for sleep, I start to smell the blood and smoke, hear the screams and clashes of armor.

I walk around the castle to trick myself into believing nothing bad will happen to me as I slumber.

The guards ignore me as I journey in my robes. I am allowed to go wherever I want, within reason, whenever I want, within reason.

The door to the King's office is wide open. People are terrified by you enough that there's no need for you to ever close it.

You are not sitting at your desk. Nor at the table with the map. Nor anywhere in sight.

I close the door behind me. No one is ever terrified by me.

The map tells me how the war is really going, with its wooden ships and forts and flags. The western front is stretched too long. The Neck is still vulnerable on all sides. Dorne is still undecided. You should have gotten control of the Iron Isles and their fleets when you had the chance. I touch one of the wooden ships.

Through a doorway to an adjacent room, I see you staring into a fire. Thinking. Sulking.

I know you know I'm here. We survive by being overly aware of everything, yet lead people to believe otherwise.

I go to where Winterfell is, caress the illustrations of the forests. I forget more and more of it each day, like I forget the lines on my father's face, the intonations of my mother's voice...

So how was it?

You still stare at the fire.

How was what, Your Grace?

Being the Queen of Love and Beauty.

I wonder if he even knows how rough he comes off sometimes.

Another empty title with the assumption of some sort of power.

Power over what?

Ideally the heart of the man who crowns you, and the ones who are jealous because of it.

You are one of the jealous ones.

But fortunately there wasn't much of that this time around.

I wouldn't say that.

I wonder if you meant to say that aloud.

I go to stand in the doorway. You still stare into the fire, sitting on the stool.

What troubles you, My King?

You stay silent. One of the logs cracks, emitting shoots of embers.

I move to stand next to you, to try to see what you see in the flames.

In silence, we both stare at the flickering flames.

I killed my brothers.

You will never stop feeling the guilty.

I want to touch you, but what am I to you anyway?

I go for words, but the wrong ones, the buried ones, slip out.

I killed my father.

I shouldn't have spoke. I should have let us drown in the silence.

You were only a child.

You never asked me about the circumstances leading up to my father's arrest, only everything that happened afterwards. You always assumed the best of me. You didn't even have me examined to prove my marriage to Tyrion was unconsummated. You took my word. You have always taken my word.

I was the one who told Cersei.

Your muscles tense more than I ever thought possible. You're making yourself stay in control. You would never dare hurt me.

I know you're comparing me to Lyanna in your head. Contributing to the start of a war because of a man that didn't deserve my love. I know how much you hate her. She broke your brother. I fear you hate me now as well.

You abruptly stand up and go to the window. I stand by the fire, suddenly terrified by the possibility of witnessing you lose control. And there is no one here to prevent you from hurting me.

And I told my father to admit to the treason. Joffrey said he would spare him his life, make him take the Black.

My life would end up like one of the pretty songs, not one of the sad ones. I was such a poor young fool.

And you would still be his queen.

I am too terrified to cry. Or am I too numb? You are cold and its said with hate, but not due to me. I don't think.

Say it, Sansa.

You make it seem like I betrayed you just now, that I just committed high treason.

He said I would be his queen. And then he killed him, and tortured me, and made another stupid girl his queen.

I am too numb to cry. I refuse to let you see me cry. I refuse to let you see me weak.

I ordered the death of Renly. I could have prevented Robert's. If I hadn't gone back to Dragonstone...

Cersei would have killed you as well.

Him making your father Hand made me leave...

Your stubbornness made you leave. Your stubbornness killed Renly. Everything you sulk about is because of you, so don't you dare blame my father for any of this.

I didn't feel like that was me at the moment. It was the angry, dead little girl, yelling at the King.

Your eyes stare at me with full intensity. Hatred and betrayal.

Do you know how many co-conspirators of Cersei I have sentenced since I took the city?

You are a truly just man.

Do you intend to make me join them? Or are your threats as empty as your predecessors?

If only it were that easy, Lady Stark.

Why wouldn't it be that easy? You're the king of a chair of rusty swords.

You make your way across the room to me. Slowly. Terrifyingly. I hold my ground. Terrified but strong.

Imagine how good it would feel. To finally get rid of the House that took away all the things that you were too soulless to love in the first place.

Stop it.

The sad, soulless, stubborn king. Brother of a sad, drunk, whoring king.

That's enough.

Since when do Baratheons know when it is enough?

You stare at me in complete, utter pain. I think I made the iron break.

Even when made to believe you're a god, it is never enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

And you will always be the Lannister's bitch.

I don't realize I try to slap you until you painfully hold my wrist a few inches away from your face. I try to break free but you will not let me go. You hold my other wrist, keeping me from fighting back.

I refuse to let the tears come.

Its now painful to continue to hold them back.

I want to scream but it would just make it worse.

I feel a tear going down my cheek as you keep staring at me with those eyes. Hatred. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Pity.

I can't take it anymore. I look to the ground.

Please let go of me, My King.

My tone still spits of poison.

No.

Your Grace...

No.

I try to break away again. You instead force my wrists together, palms facing me, at the level of your chest.

Stannis...

No.

You are a truly just man.

I know I will have bruises in the morning. If I live to see the morning. You will hurt me further. I know that now.

I am truly sorry.

For what? The truth?

You spit the poison straight back at me.

Yes.

My heart is pounding so fast I fear it may break. My knees feel so weak I think I may fall to the ground.

You let go and somehow I'm still standing. And I feel so small. And oh so suddenly alone in the world.

I've burned my last bridge of understanding. Pushed away the last person who truly knew what became of the little dead girl.

You stand by the window again. I convince myself to take my leave, and pray that I'll never be alone with you again.

When we were marching to take the city, some of the men asked Jon about you.

I stop.

He hadn't seen you since you were a girl. He could only guess at the woman you were going to become.

Sorry I turned out to be such a disappointment.

Half of the ones that heard that night fell in love with the woman he described. Wouldn't be surprised if they helped take the city in her name.

What did Jon tell them?

I cautiously, slowly, make my way back to you.

He said she had long red hair. Smiling blue eyes.

My hair doesn't even cover my neck. My eyes are still red from crying. I am still crying.

She loved flowers and songs and all the other pretty things.

I am surrounded by men and war and frailty and death.

Her father was a good friend of the King, so she was promised to a prince. Everyone agreed she would be a good princess, perhaps even a great queen.

No such agreement was ever made.

But the old King died, and the new King broke the promise. And he locked her away.

If only they had just done that.

I can't remember the rest, but it was along the lines of that.

I stand by you now and can feel the tiniest draft from the open window.

What did you think of her?

You don't even look at me.

Like a maiden out of a song. One where things never end well.

Did she turn out to exist after all?

They murdered her before she could ever exist.

So they took the city in the name of a song.

Not everyone. But some.

Did you fall in love with her?

I thought it was part of my duty to try to save her, as well as everyone else in the kingdom. And we were too late. We took too long. Too many distractions, interruptions along the way.

There is no room for love in duty.

I let them murder her.

I look at you and your mask is finally gone. You seem younger, more naturally calmer. So full of sorrow. So full of guilt.

Ser Rolland asked me three days ago who he should crown if he won. The others didn't know, will never know.

Why me?

Because if I was competing, and had won, you would be the one I crowned with roses.

Why?

Robert only crowned those he wanted to chase, to bed. Renly only crowned the prettiest distractions.

And you?

I wanted to make you happy.

You gently grab the wrist I tried to strike you with and massage circles on it with your thumb. You divert your eyes to what you're doing.

I'm sorry that I hurt you. Scared you.

I put a hand on your face. For the briefest moment, the circles stop, but then start up again. Slower. More careful.

I know.

You have a soldier's skin. A man by the sea's skin. Midnight stubble that will be gone in the morning.

You place my hand above your heart. I can feel your heart, your heart of fire, pounding. You look back out the window.

Do they really call me the Sad King?

They've only known you in times of war. You're the first that's cared about his people in a very long time.

Robert cared.

Because you and Lorn Arryn cared.

I thought he cared in the beginning.

I feel a hand on my back. You pull me closer.

We refused to see a lot of things that we should have.

My thumb slightly grazes the edge of your lips. You turn and kiss into my palm. I put my head on your shoulder.

And now the kingdom bleeds.

Your kingdom bleeds.

I plant the lightest kiss on your jaw.

The Mad King. The War King. The Bastard Kings. The Sad King. No wonder some want no king at all.

I lay another, more firmer, kiss.

The Broken Queen. The Unfaithful Queen. The ones that never were.

They were queens.

You look down at me.

Like my mother. The people just forgot.

There is a peace in the silence we find ourselves standing in. There is an understanding, a safety in it.

I can barely feel our first kiss. Nor the second. Or the third. But by the seventh I am numb to everything else but you. And sometime after the tenth, when you kiss my neck, I fear it all too good to be true.

What am I to you?

You stop and look at me. Your jaw twitches.

You're the woman that sees me as a man.

I see you as a broken man you really are, you mean to say. And as you kiss me again, I know you see me as a broken woman I really am.

But for these brief moments, it doesn't matter. All that matters is you pushing down my robes to lay kisses on my shoulders. The feel of the window-frame against my shoulder blades.

* * *

I lay in bed, my honor only intact because you promised Jon you'd protect me, and my honor.

I can't stop staring at the crown of roses on the bed stand. I can't stop smiling.

I was your Queen of Love and Beauty. I am your Queen of Love and Beauty.

* * *

Please review. Anons welcome. Flames welcome.


End file.
